


As Good As It Looks

by Liadt



Category: Rising Damp
Genre: Fade to Black, First Time, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, homophobic slang, rigsby is a bigot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 05:37:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20652077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liadt/pseuds/Liadt
Summary: Fed up with what life has handed him as usual, Rigsby goes upstairs to annoy Alan, but finds himself interacting with him in a different way.





	As Good As It Looks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colisahotnorthernmess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/gifts).

> For colisahotnorthernmess. I gave my slash goggles a good clean and this is what happened! I hope you enjoy:)

Rigsby was fed up, not that wasn’t a usual occurrence, but Vienna’s yowls outside were rubbing salt into the wounds. It didn’t sound pleasant out there, but it did mean his cat was getting it, unlike him. He never had any luck, he thought gloomily. It was easy for animals, sex wasn’t that complicated it was the getting to it that was the problem. Cats didn’t have the troubles he did. Their courting process involved yowling at each other for a bit and then they got on with it. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. Not only was he fed up, he was bored. He decided to go upstairs and annoy Alan. Miss Jones was out and so was Philip (as if ten wives weren’t enough) and the new tenant was a solid and stocky brute who it wouldn’t be wise to wind up. Not unless he wanted a punch in the face and, worse, he’d probably get Rigsby to give him his bond back to boot ... with a boot. 

He’d heard Alan in the shower earlier, tending to his ridiculous hair no doubt, so he’d have a go at him for that and how it effected Alan's own rubbish lovelife. Rigsby cheered up: there was always someone worse off than yourself, at least he had Miss Jones waiting to open up like a flower for him one day, he deluded himself.

Rigsby walked straight into Alan’s room unannounced; there wasn’t any point in locking the doors. If Rigsby wanted to talk he’d get out a key. Alan was sat on a chair reading, with his hair wrapped up in a towel.

“Ho, what’s this? You’ve bound your hair up, instead of allowing it to drip free and easy to ruin my carpets and floors. Has something happened to it? Has it fallen out?” Rigsby sounded gleeful, although if Alan’s locks had suffered he would have felt a pang of sympathy for a moment, before gloating that his own locks had lasted longer before they started to thin.

“No, I’ve been trying out a hair mask,” said Alan.

“A hair mask?” Well, he’d heard it all now, the youth of today just got more idiotic by the day. 

“It’s like a face mask, but for hair. Philip told me about it when I complained to him about my split ends. It’s made from an ancient recipe used by the women of his tribe.”

“I bet. I’d take it off before it all falls out. It’s not meant for your type of hair, is it? It’ll be eating away at your wispy strands.”

“Really?” Alarmed, Alan jumped up, unwound the towel and rubbed at his hair to remove the mask.

“See you don’t thi...” Rigsby broke off.

“What happened? Has it turned a funny colour?” Anxious, Alan came close to Rigsby for him to assess the damage. 

“No, er,” Rigsby swallowed. “It looks very, ah, lustrous,” he said, with his eyes transfixed on Alan’s hair. He wanted to say something derogatory, like it was poofy, especially with Alan right in his face, but he couldn’t. The mask had worked it’s magic all right. Alan looked bloody gorgeous. He was going to get back at Philip for giving him these thoughts.

“Do you want to check it’s OK?” asked Alan, worried.

“Touch it?” squeaked Rigsby. He didn’t desire to run his hand through those glowing locks at all, oh no.

“It might look alright, but if you think my hair’s had it...”

Rigsby didn’t say, “Feel it yourself, you loony, your hair isn’t my business,” but hesitantly slid his fingers into it, instead. The mask had worked equal wonders on its texture. “Ah,” he said, trying to make it sound like a deductive noise and not one voicing his pleasure with the feel of the silken locks. His voice box might have been able to restrain itself, but his hand had other ideas. He massaged his fingers against his head. 

“Mmm,” said Alan and lent into Rigsby’s touch.

Rigsby smiled at this: it was like Alan was a big pussy cat and he kept going, it felt nice to be doing this, to give the lad pleasure and and himself. He must be getting soft and decidedly odd in his old age. This was almost intimate and he didn't want to stop. As if Alan had caught onto Rigsby’s thoughts, he caught at Rigsby’s free hand and towed him to his bed. Not looking where he was going his legs hit the edge of the bed and fell backwards taking Rigsby with him. Rigsby landed with his free hand on Alan’s warm chest. He could feel his heart beating under the thin material of his shirt, while his other hand was still tangled up in his hair. Rigsby suddenly felt very warm himself. Is this what happens when you don’t get any for years, your nether regions start thinking your girly looking tenant is a real girl? Alan’s flat, bony chest didn’t remind him of a woman’s and though pretty in a certain light Alan was still a man and that seemed to make him more aroused than repelled by the prospect.

“Oh, God,” moaned Rigsby, quietly. How had this happened? He had a dim memory of previous feelings for men, he'd long repressed, rise up to let him know he couldn't blame Philip's concoction on how he was feeling now.

“It’s alright, you know,” said Alan, after what felt like an age for Rigsby, lying there resting his hand on his chest.

“It is?” said Rigsby and his eyes darted about, looking at anything but Alan, which was difficult this close. His hand started to tremble. To counteract his embarrassment, he moved his hand away and instead of lifting, it traitorously slid down his chest and Rigsby froze caught between desire and years of society telling him this wasn’t done.

“You can if you want to,” said Alan and lifted his face to Rigsby. 

God, he’s attractive and, rarer than that, willing. Rigsby cut short the distance and lost himself in a kiss. He felt himself go hard and ground against Alan’s thigh. It was hard not to with the way Alan let out the odd soft moan and gave overall the impression he was enjoying being kissed by him. By him! This was a new experience, but then the whole situation was. His body wanted more than a kiss, but he wasn’t certain where to go next, except that the missionary position was out. Before he could ask Alan if he’d had better luck with men, Alan flipped him over on to his back.

“I wish you didn’t have that shirt on.” At least Rigsby knew he wanted nakedness, even if the details of what else he wanted was foggy. As things were progressing this way, Alan’s clothed state was getting annoying. He knew Alan’s skin would feel better than his cheap shirt.

“I can do better than that.” Alan bounced off the bed and swiftly divulged himself of his clothes, although he might have left his socks on. Rigsby couldn’t tell from where he was lying. 

“Do you like what you see?” Alan said as Rigsby took in his lithe form. He added, “I’ve never stripped off in front of anyone else before, not like this.” His pose of bravado of a second ago had dissipated. It was probably Rigsby staring at his erection that did it. 

“Er, yes, very good.” It wasn’t reassuring, but it was truthful and he was still dazed by the sudden turn of events. “You’re not going to do an exotic dance are you?”

“What? No.” Alan furrowed his brow. He hadn’t thought of that and didn’t think he’d be any good at it. 

“Oh good. Things are erotic enough as it is,” Rigsby mumbled under his breath. Well, he couldn’t fool himself he was confused by Alan’s ladylike hair now, not with that in his eye-line. “Can you get back down here?” Every second of doing nothing was frustrating and God knows he’d had enough of his desires frustrated. 

Alan dropped back down to the bed. “Can I undress you?” he asked, shyly.

It was true, he was rather overdressed wasn’t he? And when did a cardigan ever feature in anyone’s sexual fantasies? “Be gentle with me,” said Rigsby, jokily, although he was a little nervous as well, as it was a first time of sorts for him too, despite the thrill of being like this with Alan. 

“You are daft,” said Alan and tickled him under his shirt, playfully. It would have been a dent to Rigsby’s masculinity to lie there, trembling in anticipation waiting for Alan to do what he wanted to him, but he didn’t care, all he wanted was Alan, it didn’t matter how. As the older, more experienced man he should take the lead, but there was something to be said for the reckless abandon of youth. Besides, he could point Alan in the right direction along the way. Although, as Alan undid his shirt buttons and made him gasp as he tracked his way down to his navel with his lips, he was doing a pretty good job of it. Tonight, he’d be doing some yowling of his own.


End file.
